


focal point

by tanyart



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Journalism, Alternate Universe - Photographer, M/M, World Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 05:04:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15332406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: Overwatch Magazine is set to publish an exclusive article to raise millions for charity. Nature photographer McCree is asked to do a world tour photoshoot with one notorious media celebrity, Genji Shimada. No one is too happy about it, but no one is backing down either, least of all McCree.(A convoluted photographer/model AU set in the 1990s.)





	focal point

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to ari, bella, eddi, and sophie for all collectively taking a look and making sure everything was as readable as it can get. Any mistakes that happen anyway are my own.  
> 
> 
> * * *

McCree has not been in Gabriel’s office in months. A lot has changed since then. The room is bigger and the desk smaller, though McCree figures it’s only a trick of perspective with how much paperwork fills up every square inch of space, not to mention the monster of a computer in place of the quirky typewriter Gabriel used to indulge in when Overwatch had only been a local newsstand magazine. Still, Gabriel’s perpetual frown is the same as ever, and if McCree has to take comfort in that, he sure as hell tries.

It doesn’t work, not even for a second. McCree might’ve not seen Gabriel in a good long while, but he can’t help the trickle of trepidation sitting on the other side of Gabriel’s crowded desk, waiting for Gabriel to drop the proverbial bomb that tends to shatter lives for better or for worse.

Of course, Gabriel can be blunt when he wants to. McCree has been sitting and listening to Gabriel talk about _ideas_ , about getting back into the news scene, the hardships of being an editor, but there’s a reason why McCree has left the bustling photography studios and streets for quiet forests and lonely deserts. Gabriel is stalling, or trying to warm McCree up to the thought of taking live commissions again. It’s not working.

McCree holds up a hand to stop the chatter. He doesn’t think Gabriel has conveniently _forgotten_ about his prior jobs, the stuff he has to doll up on all his resumes and portfolios. “I used to sneak around people and take their pictures without their permission. I was scum.”

“But you were good at it,” Gabriel says immediately.

_Ah._ So not forgotten. McCree should stop being surprised that Gabriel would call him up again for the very same reason he got hired to the Overwatch photography department. “Gee, thanks.”

"Face it, McCree. You’re wasting your talent snapping pics out in the desert, which, by the way, is just as creepy.”

McCree leans back into his chair, one leg bouncing in place. He’d rather be a hermit creep taking scenic pictures in the woods than a paparazzi creep. He could say as much, but Gabriel looks ready to start the old song and dance again. Funny, since Gabriel doesn’t have much patience for it either. He must be desperate.

“Cut the bullshit, Gabe,” McCree says, “There’s not much left of me to tear down and you know it.”

“I’m not tearing down anything. I’ve got a job for you. A celebrity photoshoot. You were always good at taking candids. Imagine what you could do if people actually posed for you.”

McCree outright laughs. He doesn't _do_ celebrity photoshoots. “Calling them candids is stretching it.”

Gabriel is unflappable. “You can work with animals, yeah? Difficult ones?”

“So long as I keep a safe distance,” McCree replies, instantly wary of the subject jump. “Why? Thought you were asking me about a celebrity.”

“It’s Genji Shimada,” Gabriel says, the corner of his mouth going up as he enjoys his own joke. “A party animal, in a different kind of wilderness.”

“Wouldn’t call him a celebrity either,” McCree mutters, already losing interest. He doesn’t know much about Genji Shimada other than what he’s seen from overzealous media outlets. According to them, Genji Shimada is just some rich young fuck wasting away his family’s dime on parties and half-baked start-ups. Where exactly those dimes were coming from, McCree sure as hell couldn’t guess. The Shimada Corporation has a finger in almost everything these days, and it hasn't been within McCree’s interest to keep up with the latest family drama.

Despite all that, McCree is inclined to side with the media on this one. If the portrayals of the youngest Shimada heir seem overexaggerated in the tabloids, in his experience, there’s likely a grain of truth to it. The guy had grown up spoiled, no doubts about it. A born entertainer without a cause but all the money.

Gabriel lets out a thoughtful hum. “Well, he’s doing a charity photoshoot for Overwatch Magazine.”

McCree pauses, digesting this new information. Too many factors to even begin to guess why. He scoffs.

“And you want me to be the photographer? With my track record?”

“We aren’t going to be using your usual résumé. I’m pulling a few strings.”

McCree’s eyebrows shoot up. “And how’s that going?”

“I’m pulling a _lot_ of strings. And I’ve been angling for the ‘unknown talent’ thing for a while,” Gabriel says, vague, but he shrugs. “You’re one of the best I know, and you can handle yourself in…”

“A fistfight?” McCree suggests, remembering some of the reality TV episodes and news highlights featuring Genji. The guy has to be making some kind of money, even if just to fund his numerous vices.

“... Chaotic circumstances,” Gabriel allows. He peers at him with a knowing eye before rummaging through some papers, suddenly distracted. “It’s good money, McCree. A couple of photoshoots here, a couple of candids there. Clean up some and schmooze with the best of them for a couple of weeks.”

“A couple of weeks?” McCree says, taken aback. _Now_ his attention is got. “Reyes. That ain’t a photoshoot.”

Gabriel slides McCree a couple of packed folders, dropping them like a pile of trump cards. McCree already knows they are.

And Gabriel repeats with a cold smile, “It’s not just a photoshoot.”

 

* * *

 

It really isn’t just a photoshoot. It’s an around-the-world tour, showcasing the highlights of a handful of metropolises and one notorious Genji Shimada. It’s bound to raise millions, with sales boosted by product placement, luxury branding, and the intertwining threads of Shimada Corporation backers and partnerships. It’s a perfect recipe for a whirlwind of money and the positive PR the Shimada company has been chasing after for the past year.

Of course, Genji turns out to be a good-looking piece, too. No celebrity ever gets a huge following of ardent fans by being ugly. McCree can give him some credit for having good genes and a camera-ready personality. Whether or not the camera-ready personality ends up being charming or annoying, McCree knows he’s bound to find out for himself.

And as of their first meeting together, McCree is drawing up the score, and it's resoundingly in the negatives.

Genji Shimada, in all his haughty glory, waltzes into the studio flanked by two bodyguards and _green_ fucking _hair_ , as bright and vibrant as late spring, which would have been all fine and dandy if McCree and the poor wardrobe lead _and_ the make-up artist hadn’t planned everything for _black hair._

“Oh, I hadn’t realized it would be a problem,” Genji says, after they’ve all introduced themselves — minus the bodyguards. Genji hadn’t even allowed them a chance to speak before talking on. His hand comes up to smooth the green strands over. It looks freshly washed, and when his hand falls back down, there is a whiff of toner in the air. “But it looks cool, right?”

It looks hideous, but McCree isn’t about to insult one of the richest people in the world. He bites back his tongue. Fucking _green_. What a nightmare color to work with. He has to readjust his backdrops and some of his camera settings — no green screens allowed for _sure_ — but it’s nothing compared to the thousand-yard stare the wardrobe lead is wearing. And she isn’t about to insult one of the richest people in the world either.

“It’s fine,” the wardrobe lead says tightly. “Luckily today is only the test shoot. I have some outfits, but they might no longer be… fitting.”

“Right, right,” Genji says, nodding in sympathy, as if he hadn’t just been the cause of all this trouble.

With that, wardrobe excuses herself to make a few phone calls, something about Vishkar’s unreleased 1998 Winter collection no longer being _suited_ for the charity shoot. McCree doesn’t envy having that conversation.

“Of course we shouldn’t have expected something so bland as black hair,” make-up says in dry humor, the most brave of the three of them. She eyes Genji with a critical look. “You’ve gotten a tan, too. So fast.”

“Thought my complexion looked too pale.” Genji smiles, so pretty and dazzling that McCree wishes he could just snap a photo and have the job be over with. He had a feeling Genji was going to be a difficult case, but he hadn’t expected to deal with some asshole being difficult on purpose.

“Any chance we can dye the hair back to black?” McCree asks, only to be completely ignored. As expected.

“Maybe we could try for a more avant garde theme?” Genji suggests instead, possibly reading the dour mood of the studio. He blinks, straightening. “Ah, probably not, considering we want this to appeal to as many as people as possible.”

It had taken months to arrange the world tour shoot, only to have Genji put the first snag in the schedule. If McCree hadn’t known any better, he would have assumed Genji wanted to sabotage the entire thing on the spot.

“Well, I’ll need to go over my palettes. We’ll do a few mock-ups after I talk with Bairavi,” make-up says, her assessing gaze still fixed on Genji.

McCree sughs inwardly. Great. They’re just going to leave him alone with the impossible celebrity. He gestures to the studio corner where his gear is set up. “I might as well start on the headshots.”

Emily throws him an apologetic smile, and then a much more polite one to Genji before she picks up her brushes and exits the room, possibly to tear her hair out.

“She’s cute,” Genji says with a sly glance past McCree’s shoulder.

“Heard she’s got a girlfriend,” McCree says flatly, stepping to the side to block Genji’s line of sight. At the same time, he points to the backdrop in the corner, surrounded by lighting stands. “Might we move on over there? I wanna take some test shots and see how we do.”

Genji pouts, a nice lip jut that might appeal to the stay-at-home mothers and teenage fans. Boyish and young, trouble imminent. McCree makes an _objective_ mental note to snap a shot of that sometime later.

“Straight to business?” Genji asks, teasing, but he saunters over to the backdrop.

“No time like the present,” McCree replies and gestures to the barstool. “Have a seat, please. And, hm, maybe if we can get some shots by yourself.”

Genji obliges him by waving away the two bodyguards to situate themselves nearby. Far enough to not bother McCree, but still maintaining enough presence that he can’t exactly ignore them.

Whatever. As if McCree would try to pull something on any member of the Shimada Corporation, Genji or not. He opens his gear and pulls out the camera.

The current backdrop is a simple sheet of white, the barstool plain black. Genji cuts a crisp figure despite the green hair and outrageously multi-colored and patched windbreaker that McCree is forced to acknowledge, now that he actually needs to look at Genji’s entire appearance. Distressed designer jeans and orange canvas hightops round off the entire ensemble and, much to McCree’s chagrin, it doesn’t actually look too bad in small doses.

Genji doesn’t seem to take offense at his staring, likely used to working in front of cameras. He eases onto the stool in a casual slouch, every bit of him comfortable. It’ll already make a great picture for some other photographer wanting stills.

“No need to pose, Shimada. We’re just getting some old fashion headshots for the design team,” McCree says, relishing every second he gets to tell Genji _no_.

Genji straightens, the beginnings of a scowl settling over his expression. “Why? They’ve already taken my measurements.”

Under normal circumstances, McCree would explain the first few test shots as getting acquainted with the subject, going over the subject matter, some coaching boundaries, and finding the right settings for his camera. But Genji’s tone had been more demanding and less inquiring, so McCree figures all Genji wants to do is be difficult.

McCree fiddles around with the lens, taking his time before replying.

“With your new look, we’ll need an updated version of your profile,” he says, sweet as pie. He even smiles too, a little sharp at the edges. “Sit up straighter, please.”

Unsurprisingly, Genji doesn’t sit up straighter. If anything, he hunkers down more on the chair while somehow still retaining his laid back pose. “You can’t take the headshot like this?”

“Y’look crooked. Shoulders get hunched up if you slouch like that. Makes your neck seem shorter.” McCree pauses, wondering how far he can go before Genji gets fed up with him too. “I’m told you had modeling experience before?”

Genji raises an eyebrow. “I do.”

“Oh,” says McCree, with the right amount of surprise to be on the low end of condescending.

Because a huge truth of the world is that Genji has been a part of _many_ modeling events before, and if not a model himself then certainly a guest host. Along with attaching his face to several luxury goods, his invitation lists must be miles long with how coveted he is, but McCree doesn’t feel the particular need to bust his knees over it.

But two can play at this game. Genji’s gaze narrows, sizing McCree up.

“Ah, but I’ve never heard of _you_ , Jesse,” he says, as he leans forward, too aggressive to be merely curious. “I know you came highly recommended. What agency do you use?”

“I’m more of a freelancer,” McCree says, knowing how vague he sounds but it can’t be helped. “And Overwatch Magazine chose me, so I suppose that makes me pretty good.” He puts the camera to his face, ending the line of conversation right then and there.

Genji doesn’t look happy to be dismissed, but either he’s grown equally as tired of McCree or McCree’s qualifications are beneath his scructiny. In the irony of the moment, McCree wishes Genji would ask. He doesn’t expect Genji to be serious about the photoshoot, but McCree prefers at least some grain of interest.

“Overwatch Magazine does seem to be branching out,” Genji muses, more to himself than to McCree. He shifts in his seat, sitting up.

McCree take a couple of shots before Genji can change positions. There had been a crooked smile on Genji’s face, eyes averted from the camera. Not a good headshot or even portrait, but at least it’s something natural. McCree plans to review some of the photos later after he develops them, get a feel for how Genji moves and expresses himself.

But Genji’s expression had been something unexpected, as if telling a joke to himself that McCree isn’t privy to. The thought of being a part of Overwatch Magazine’s content seems to amuse Genji. With good reason — his escapades are more suited for fashion and entertainment media, not news journalism. Genji Shimada is a far cry from any Person of the Year articles.

“I’m surprised they reached out to you,” McCree agrees. After a moment, he realizes how rude that sounds and corrects himself, “Is this one of the usual charities you’ve worked with?”

 

At Genji’s blank look, McCree is glad he hasn’t bothered with an apology. At Genji’s waiting silence, McCree manages to take a photo first before lowering the camera in disbelief.

“Wait,” he begins, “Don’t you even know what charity you’re racking up all this money for?”

Genji shrugs. “Does it matter? I’m sure it’s for a good cause, if the Shimada Board of Directors is deciding.”

McCree tries to school his expression into something more neutral and less ‘ _holy shit_ ’. Even if Genji is joking, McCree can’t just let it slide, given recent events. He says, bluntly, “The charity is for International Lumerico Foundation for Orphans.”

There is a pause. Genji’s gaze lands hard on McCree, his smile turning sardonic. “How fitting.”

McCree doesn’t take _that_ picture. He’s got some morals left in him, and the picture wouldn’t have turned out well; there’s something ugly in Genji’s smile, too bitter and not at all like his usual playful smirk.

“Thought you knew,” McCree says, not quite sympathetic.

Overwatch Magazine’s sudden interest in Genji isn’t coincidental. It’s a nice sob story, with the death of his father and the abandonment of his eldest brother. Hanzo Shimada, former heir to the multi-million dollar company, had renounced all his assets, his title and money, and disappeared without a trace. Some news outlets had spun the story as some kind of grief-filled gesture, and others — not so kind journalists — say out of overwhelming pressure. All bullshit, in McCree’s personal opinion, but all that left little Genji Shimada to be puppet-stringed along while the Shimada Board of Directors did whatever they pleased with the company assets.

The charity might be a little tasteless coming from the board, but any PR specialist worth their salt would make out the story to be Genji’s thoughtful idea from the start. And _then_ it’s a bittersweet story, something pretty for both the media and the Shimada Company brand.

McCree wonders if Genji understands his position, or if he even cares.

“Well?” Genji prompts, interrupting his thoughts.

McCree glances up, nudges one of the lighting stands back in place, and clears his throat. He lifts the camera over his eye. “Right, sorry. Alright, give me a good smile.”

Genji smiles on cue, perfectly sweet and happy, just shy of laughing. The shutter clicks.

And there’s his answer.


End file.
